Welcome to the 60's
by Devony V
Summary: Samantha Smalls didn't know much about her father's childhood. If fact, she couldn't care less. She was too wrapped up in the modern world. Perhaps a whack on the head and a trip to the early 1960's will change all that. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1: BAM!

Chapter 1

Hey, everyone! This is Devony, once again. So anyway, the Sandlot is one of my all-time favorite movies. Okay, I'll just say it: The sequels sucked. This has almost the same plot as Heading Home. Samantha Smalls is Scotty's daughter. She's twelve going on thirteen and she lives for baseball. After the large part in italics, I'm going into first person because I like it better, and I'm too lazy to retype the first part.

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and the girls on her team. I do not own the Sandlot or its sequels.

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"Balls in! Comin' down!" Samantha yanked down her catcher's helmet and held out her glove. "Get ready Nat! Comin' to you!" The second basemen charged into position as Mallory swung her arm around and snapped the ball down the strike zone.

A light flick of her friend's wrist proved how much power Mal had. Sam's hand was aching when she ball slammed into her glove and caused a cloud of dust to explode from her mitt. But her aching hand didn't stop her from performing a power throw.

The ball soared through the air and landed in Natalie's glove. She grinned, pulled her arm back and chucked the ball to the pitcher.

Samantha stood up and glanced at the stands. As usual, her shoulders fell in disappointment. Neither her mother nor her father had come to watch the game. Sam's mother was a lawyer, always busy no her trips, and her father was a commentator at Dodger's stadium. And because of that, Sam knew the players. Her favorite, of course, was her Uncle Benny. Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez wasn't really her uncle. Just a good friend of her fathers. Ever since she began to talk, he'd been her "Uncle Benny."

"Batter up!" roared the ump. Sam cringed, but got into position. Umpires, especially the ones with loud voices, sometimes scared her. Not a lot, but a bit.

"Ready position, ladies!" The girls their gloves ready, and Mallory wound up, and the ball shot down the zone, resulting in a perfect strike. Within a few minutes, there were two outs and no one on base. The third batter was a small, skinny girl who looked like she had no experience with baseball at all. The bat seemed to be too heavy for her as she struggled to lift it on her shoulder.

Sam rolled her eyes. "One more out, Mallory! Make my hand sore!" Sam gave her helmet a yank, punched her glove, and put her free hand behind her back.

Whoosh. Whiff.

"Strike one!"

_Well, at least the kid had spirit enough to swing._

Another whoosh. Another whiff.

"Steerike two!"

_Can you yell any louder? _

The girl swung the bat for the last time, but it snapped off the bat and shot in the air. The girl, shocked by the hit, just stood there while Sam tore off her catcher's helmet and leapt to the side to catch the ball.

"GO CLARA!!!" the opposing team screamed. The batter charged down the line.

"DROP THE BAT!"

_There is one all time greatest moment in the history of sports. And it happened in the 1932 World Series. The story goes that in the bottom of the ninth inning, with two outs and a timed run on base, Babe Ruth raised his arm and pointed toward the center field bleachers. No one believed it, because nobody had ever done it before. But the Babe was calling his shot. On the next pitch, the Great Bambino hit a towering four hundred foot homerun. And although he'd already been a hero before that, that's pretty much how he became a legend. Thirty years later, a kid named Benjamin Franklin Rodriguez became a neighborhood legend. It was in the greatest summer of my life, when he taught me how to play baseball, and he became my best friend. And he got me out of the biggest pickle I'd ever been in._

Pickle…why did dad always say pickle? A pickle is a food. Mom told me that, once upon a time, it meant "problem."

Oh, god, my head hurt. Anybody care to explain to my why I feel the need to remove my catcher's gear when there's a good hit?

Lung problems?

Hmm.

Heat and light blasted through my closed eyelids. I lifted a hand over my face as I sat up and struggled to lift my eyelids open. I felt like they had been glued shut. When they decided to open again, my eyes hurt even worse.

I fiercely rubbed away the black spots that were appearing in front of my eyes. I stretched my back and arms out. They were simply sore. My nose was killing me.

_That little brat must have thrown the bat at me,_ I thought angrily. I was afraid of touching my nose, as though it might be broken.

After crossing the heck out of my eyes to check the damage on my poor nose, I took the time to look around. I was still at the field where my game was at…but it was different. There were no stands filled with cheering parents and friends. The dugouts were filthier than they were before, and the rusty old fence that Mallory oh-so-creatively named "Old Rusty" seemed to be disintegrating.

Poor Old Rusty.

I suddenly got that weird feeling that someone was watching me. You know- the hair on the back of your neck stands up, the whole nine yards?

"Hey."

When I turned, I was face-to-face with my Uncle Benny.

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Heh. Uncle Benny…yeah. I hadn't seen the Sandlot until a free day at school. Before I thought it was just some stupid movie about some stupid boys and their stupid psychotic dog….

…

Anyway, I'm in love with the movie now. Next chapter up as soon as I can!

--V


	2. Chapter 2: UNCLE BENNY!

First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone who gave the kind messages of support. I notified my neighbor's family and they really appreciate them. So thank you so much. I explained why I decided to cut my break short in chapter 3 of my War of the Worlds story _Rayne's War_, so you can check that and my Hannah Montana fic out. I'd appreciate that too. It'll make me feel good. Well, chapter 2.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Sandlot. Just Sam.

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"Hey."

I was afraid to move. My nose- in fact, my whole head- was throbbing. It was like someone was beating drumsticks against my head. Believe me, it isn't a pleasant feeling.

I blinked and shook my head. This was completely insane. I cannot seriously be standing here with my _Uncle Benny_. This was completely illogical. I simply can't have it.

Uncle Benny actually looked different. For one thing, his mustache was gone. I came to the conclusion that he was younger. A lot younger. In his preteens of something. If it hadn't been for the barely-distinguishable Cuban accent, I would have never recognized him. Except for maybe his eyes. His dark brown eyes…

WHAT THE HECK?

"Are you okay?" Uncle Benny glanced hard at me. "You look kinda…"

"What? Odd? Flustered? Hot? Not that kind of hot. You know- it's freakin' a hundred degrees out here, a person's gonna sweat. What's your problem? Huh? Who the heck are you, anyway?"

Mom's right. I am over reactive. Or did she say hyper-active? I guess I'm both.

"Huh?" Great. We're getting somewhere.

"'Huh?' Just 'huh'? What's wrong with you, boy? Is that all you have in your vocabulary? I don't even know where the heck I'm at and all you can say is 'huh?' Don't ask me why I don't know where I'm at cause I don't know why I'm not at where I'm supposed to be at in this very second!"

When I said all that, I felt completely stupid. My friends tell me that I babble when I first realize that I like a guy. That CANNOT happen. This was Uncle Benny, for God's sake!

"Uhh-" he started, and then looked down at his shoes. He shuffled his feet, and glanced back up at me. "Before you start shouting again, I guess I should ask you what you're doing here."

I relaxed. "Okay." Then I realized what he said, and got fired up again. "WEREN'T YOU LISTENING TO MY DIATRIBE?"

I snickered a bit when I saw the look on his face. Now I had him scared. Perfect. I learned a long time ago that if a guy is scared of a girl, he'll co-operate.

"I- uhh-"

I smirked. "Yes?"

"I gotta go." He stuttered. He backed away, nearly falling over, and then jogged away. I noticed that he was just as fast a runner as he was in 1993. I smiled as I remember the look on his face again. I couldn't resist. I had to have some fun with this.

I glanced around again, and then looked down at myself. I figured out why I was feeling so hot, never mind the weather. I was still in my catcher's uniform, minus the helmet, which was on the ground next to my, along with my mitt. I bent down the pick up these items. Or at least, I tried to. My catcher's gear was suffocating me like it always does for some reason. I unbuckled the chest gear and pulled it off of my body. Then I peeled my wet shirt from my sticky stomach. I shuddered. I hate sweat. Which is ironic, seeing as I play outside all day in the hot sun.

I set my gear inside the dugout and un strapped my leg guards, watching Uncle Benny run down the street. After I finished freeing myself of the protective yet suffocation deathtraps, I set down my things and ran after him, all thoughts gone astray.

What does it matter? I never use my head anyway. Guess I am a dumb blonde.

I continued to follow Uncle Benny down the street until he slowed to a jog. I decelerated as well. My cleats made scratching noises against the ground. After Uncle Benny looked over his shoulder for the sixth time, I finally took off my shoes and freed my feet. Mom always said no one could make me wear shoes when I'm not playing ball for very long. The hot asphalt burned my feet, but I ignored it. My feet were strengthened from years of playing baseball barefoot. They made me wear shoes while I played in Little League, but that was as far as they could make me go. I got to keep my waist length dirty-blonde hair as long as I tied it up, and I got to play how I wanted. My speed of pitching, my style of catching. By now you should've figured out that I'm a control freak.

I hesitated as Uncle Benny stopped again. But he didn't look at me. He was glancing over at the house across the street. A moving van was sitting there. While he looked at the short kid carrying a box, I stole the chance and ran right past him. I don't think he saw me. I dove into the bush next to the house he was headed for. I glanced out a gap in the bush at Uncle Benny. He nodded at the kid across the street.

As he walked up the steps to his rather humble home, I popped out of the bush.

"Hi there!"

"Ah!" He leapt back, yet unfortunately did not catch himself on the porch. He pulled himself back up from the bush he'd fallen into and said "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Seein' what the locals are up to." I hopped out of my bush and sat on his porch steps. "So…how's life?" I asked him with a smile.

"Well, life is getting kinda weird since you started following me around." He answered.

"You callin' me weird?" I said with a raised eyebrow.

"No, no, I just…" he looked at me, then the ground. "Yeah, you are pretty weird."

"Makes sense," I sighed. He looked at me again. "What'cha mean?" he asked.

"I'm the oldest on my team, and I act mature because I'm captain. But I act like a total moron when I get hyper. I think I had too much pop this morning." I answered, staring at my nails.

"Team?"

"Baseball." I lifted my right hand to my mouth, and then put it down. My nails were torn and bloody, not to mention filthy, so now would not be a good time to be biting. I promised my self I would get out of the habit.

Uncle Benny was quiet for a moment, but then he burst out laughing. "Baseball?"

He gasped. "_Baseball_?" he nearly fell over, holding his stomach and laughing his head off.

I wasn't sure what I was failing to grasp. But I had a dang good feeling about why he was laughing. "I fail to see what is so funny." I said in my best cold, threatening tone.

He took several deep breaths, but sobered up when he saw the look on my face. "Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, "But I'm not that big of an idiot to know that girls don't play baseball." He snickered.

"Well, technically it's referred to as softball, but-WHAT?" I screamed in his face.

"Girls don't play baseball."

I stood up. I've taken crap like this before, but not from Uncle Benny. He always said, "Never discourage someone from pursuing a dream."

Oh, yeah. One: I don't exist yet. Two: Now, Uncle Benny is a stupid teenage boy, like the ones I know at school. Cocky, arrogant, and an all right-around jerk.

This'll be fun.

"Listen here, buddy." I snarled, poking him in the chest, hard. "If we weren't in broad daylight, or even in front of your house, I'd kick your ass. But I can't. We'll just have to settle that tomorrow, when I do it on the baseball diamond. DA SVI-FRICKIN'-DANYA!" I turned and stormed away. "FINE!" he yelled back at me.

I turned around. "BY THE WAY-" he turned back at me. "MY NAME IS SAM! GOT IT? SAM! THAT IS WHAT YOU CALL ME, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN RODRIGUEZ!" That's when I turned around again and ran before he could question my about how I knew his name.

I hadn't gotten very far before I stopped my self from across the street when Uncle Benny lives. I looked at the kid carrying the boxes. I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I shrugged and walked over to him.

"Need some help?" I asked him.

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Look out! Sam's gonna run into Daddy in chapter 3.

By the way, "Da svi-frickin'-danya" is Sam's way of saying "Da svidanya" which is Russian for "Goodbye" I thought the phrase was funny. Anyway…please review. I'm glad y'all like it so far!

--V


	3. Chapter 3: DADDY!

Here's chapter 3. Admire my unbelievably creative chapter title. Really, it should be called "Samantha's surprising discovery that she is in her Dad's childhood." But that would give it away, wouldn't it? Well, this gives it away, too.

Oh, yeah, shout out:

Thank you, reviewers! This is my most popular story! If I were London Tipton, I would be tip-toe dancing and clapping while shouting, "YAY ME!! I mean—YAY REVIEWER PEOPLE!!!" Well, yay reviewer people. Since I'm bored while typing my author's notes, at the bottom I will say thank you to my reviewers. Here are a few:

**Girl-X-91**: Guess what? I did NOT see The Sandlot 3! However, I read a review, and I have to say, you were right. Santa is an ass. (Thought you were talking about Santa Clause, lol. Santa Clause is no ass, my friend.)

**Shawnee**: OMG I LOVE THE JONAS BROTHERS TOO!!! I'll put some random quotes by them in my pro, lol.

**SilverRain1.3**: Never fear, 'cause your update has arrived!

Now that I've gotten totally off track, here's the chapter.

Chapter 3: Daddy?

"Need some help?"

The blonde boy looked up in surprise. I raised my eyebrows in distaste. His hair was slicked to the side in distinct resemblance to Michael Walden, a loser in my English class who talked about nothing but Star Wars. I remembered with pleasure that I shoved him off the bleachers after annoying me too much. He may sound like the type of guy who didn't deserve cruelty, but all he does is insult people if they don't know about Star Wars. I mispronounced the name of the giant hairy thing _once_, and he called me stupid. He makes me sick.

Anyway, the kid stood up, a heavy box in his hands. "Uhh-uhh-"

Oh, fun. A shy boy.

"Yes you do." I grabbed the box from him and put it on the already huge pile of boxes in the driveway. I turned back to him, but the trailer was empty.

"So…what's your name?" Comb-over Kid asked. I began walking away from the pile of boxes over to him. "Samantha. Call me Sam or die. And your name, Bubba?"

"Err- I'm Scotty. Scotty Smalls."

When I heard his name, I tripped over one of the bigger boxes and fell flat on my face. I swore so loudly that if my grandmother had been within hearing range, she would've come straight over and shoved a bar of soap in my mouth (_Rose Bloom_ or _Freshly Scented_- my choice) and drown me in Holy Water (where the heck do you get that stuff anyway?). Yes, we're very religious.

Then again, if my hunch is right, she's nearer than I thought.

"So, Scotty," I said, still sitting on the ground. "I'm guessing you're new here?"

Scotty looked thunderstruck. Apparently he'd never met someone as strange as me. I guess I'm ahead of his time.

Oh. Right.

"Wonderful," I said before he could answer. "Really great. I know what being the new kid is like," Okay, that was a total lie. I've lived in the same town all my life, and I could hardly call this situation normal, like I was moving here.

"Anyway," I said, still interrupting him, "It was nice talking to you. Have fun in your new…umm…" I trailed off. "House. Later."

I hopped up and brushed off the dust that covered my legs. I waved to Scotty, who waved back, and then I turned and ran down the street, back to the sandlot.

Now it id time for _Sam's Thoughts About This Insanely Weird Situation_. It's the portion of the story where I tell y'all when my thought are. Parents, control your young. This may get vulgar.

Thought number one: IT'S FREAKIN HOT. It's maybe about five in the afternoon and I still feel like I'm in the middle of the Sahara Desert when Mother Nature's on a good day.

Thought number two: Remember when I said that "_HIM_" from school called me stupid? Well, I'm not stupid. I'm turning fourteen next month and I refused to sign up for the honors classes, due to the awful stress. As opposed to my friend Crystal, who signed up for FOUR honors classes, not to mention taking Honors Japanese! She'll have a nervous breakdown by midterms, I know it. For the record, she hates Michael Walden too. Poor thing had to sit next to him in English. Yep, true story. Now that I've gotten completely off track, here's the REAL thought.

Actually, I'll make it another thought, since I'm so random. Hey, I am what I am.

Thought number three: I can put two and two together: Scotty Smalls, the comb over wonder, is in fact my father. As a dorky little fifth-grader. I know what year it is, since I've heard so much about his "fantastic" childhood, and the story started off with Daddy mentioning the year "1932" and then saying "thirty years later" YES I CAN ADD.

So, I'm in Daddy's childhood. Hopefully, this whole thing is a dream. It should be, since that little BRAT practically killed me with a bat! No one enjoys having blunt force trauma inflicted upon them, especially with a bat!

I had spent so long seething that I forget my other problem. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the sandlot's large dugout that reeked of sweat, dirt and dead things.

"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?"

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There's chapter three! Thanks for those of you who reviewed!

--V


	4. Chapter 4: The Large Stooge Crew

Hey, guy's I'm really sorry for the long wait. I know you'd rather read the chapter first. Warning, it's not as good as it usually is, but I'll explain at the bottom. Other warning: Sam's kinda mean here.

I don't own Sandlot. Or Shawshank Redemption. But it's a good movie. Watch it.

NO. WAY.

I stared at the splintery wooden deathtrap that was waiting to swallow me.

Okay, EW. The top was covered with bird crap and mud.

DOUBLE EW. Dead bugs were littering the floor along with faint traces of dried saliva and pre-chewed sunflower seeds.

TRIPLE EW. "God forbid they spit on the bench," I muttered. If I lay down on the sick boy's DNA, someone will die. I didn't even want to touch the bench, let alone sleep on it. I probably wouldn't wake up in the morning. And if that happened, I wouldn't be able to kick Benny's ass tomorrow.

Damn. I really wanted to do that. I know it's mean, but I get P-OED so easily. Back home, half the guys I know were scared into liking me. I think that's what happened to Dad- I mean Smalls- or- WHATEVER.

I took the biggest breath I could and stepped into the dugout. Okay, I am no girly-girl. But that doesn't mean that I don't care about personal hygiene. I still think this place is gross. The place smelled like a shit-tank. Then I remembered how lucky I should feel. It was no walk in the park when Andy was tunneling through the sewer. Then again, he was escaping prison.

I'm not in prison.

Yet.

Cause I'm gonna KICK ASS TOMORROW!

"Yeah," I said to myself. "I'm gonna kick ass. Whiplash, assault, whatever the hell that is, I'm gonna do it."

I stretched out my back and laid down on the bench, a shudder running through my spine. Feeling that tomorrow was actually something to look forward to, I closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me.

Not.



That's what we call a long, sleepless night outside. On a bench. I swear, if a bug crawled in my ear or up my nose, someone will die. I MEAN IT.

I pulled myself up, squinting because of the bright sunlight. Suddenly, something else appeared. A face. Yes, it had a nose. If there's one thing I learned in my thirteen years of living, never trust a face without a nose.

So when I looked closer I saw that it was the face of none other than Benjamin Franklin Rodriguez. Oh, joy.

"Any specific reason as to why you're sleeping in our dugout?"

"Why should you care?" I spat. "I can sleep wherever the hell I want." I sat up. Oh LORD! My shoulder was killing me. Rodriguez seemed to notice my pain, and he smirked. THAT burned me.

"The thing is, I've been waiting here since five in the morning for you bozo's to show up." I said, standing up and walking out of the dugout. I could swear that I felt a breeze of cool air blow into my face and a ray from heaven seemed to shine down on with a Hallelujah chorus. If only I lived in a fantasy land.

"Why five?" said a short boy with brownish blonde hair. "Yeah, why five?" said his clone. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Because, Alfalfuh. I am all about work and discipline. But even strict upbringing can't stop sleep hormones. As long as-"

"Who ARE you?" the fat kid with the curly red hair asked. RUDLEY may I add. I automatically didn't like him.

"Her name's-"

"I can introduce MYSELF, Rodriguez. My name is Sam. And yourself?"

Rodriguez stretched out his arms and nodded to each player as he said each name. "That's Kenny DeNunez." The only African American boy spat on the ground as his name was spoken. I recoiled, sticking out my tongue in disgust. "Ugh…"

"This," Rodriguez ignored me. "Is Timmy and Tommy Timmons,"

"Ah, Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber." I said, nodding.

"Who's Tweedle Dumber?" said the bigger one.

"Yeah, who?" said the smaller one.

"Forget it. And who's this?"I said, looking at the kid with glasses bigger than his head. Okay, not bigger, but you get my drift, right?



"Name's Squints." The kid said oh-so-smoothly. I raised an eyebrow (I've been doing that a lot, I know.) "Listen, Little Elf, If you're going to flirt with me, make sure you're tall enough to ride the bumper cars, okay?"

By now, half the team was either glaring at me, looking at me like I was nuts, or exchanging shocked glances as to how someone could be so mean.

ME. DUH.

"Hey, what's your problem, girl?" said the tallest kid there.

"Hey, Stringbean. It's called tough love, kay?"

"Ah, did you say love, sweet thang?" said Squints slyly.

"Didn't I just talk to you?" I snapped.

"Yeah yeah, Squints. Since your hearts set out for Wendy Peffercorn, how bout you leave the other chicks for-"

"This is Yeah-Yeah." Rodriguez said disgruntedly.

"Yeah-Yeah? What kind of name is that? You know what-" I said before they could reply "I don't care. And I'm assuming you're Ham?"

"How do you know?"

Shit. How did I know? Oh, and did I mention that every single one of these pigs spat after I said their names? And Ham didn't? Does that make him a gentleman or something?

"Doesn't matter." Yeah, I can really think on my feet. "Now that we got this whole intro thing down, let's play some friggin' ball."

Damn. Ham just spit. He is NOT a gentleman in my book.

"Okay, I know this is really sexist to me, but you are the biggest bunch of sissies ever!" I yelled. "I hit twenty-seven home runs, caught every ball you threw at me, and you even chased me around the field and I'm not even tired!" Okay, that was a lie, I still had yet top catch my breath. But these guys- who called themselves MEN- were laying around like they were dead.

"You know, there's a lot of players out there-your heroes and idols- that have been waiting for you to play for them. All I can say is that I'm disappointed. You've let down, and disappointed them. See ya around!"

And with that last statement said, I turned and left them to sweat beneath the sun.



First of all, I can't find the journal that had the better version of this chapter. I promise I'll fix it when I find time. I've got a bunch of other stories I wanted to put up so badly. I'm really sorry for the long wait. I've been confirmed since then, and I had to study for my public exam. So I'm an official Christian now. Yay me.

Sorry about Sam being so mean. It'll help her fit later, and you'll find out why she's so hard on guys later.

Any ideas you have to offer, send 'em in! I have in fact his a writer's block, but I got advice from Shelly Pearsall, the author of Trouble Don't Last (READ THE BOOK it's really good.) She came to our school and I asked her what she does when she get's writer's block. REVIEW IF YOU WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT TO DO. Haha.

--V


	5. Chapter 5: Euthanasia

Yeah, when did I update this? Two years ago? Hah.

My reason for posting is at the bottom. Enjoy.

After leaving the boys and my dad (I won't be getting used to that) at the Sandlot, I decided to walk around the town to see how much it had changed in the 31 years. I've visited this place a couple times- hell, that's why the Sandlot was there. When I was hit by the ball, we were in the middle of our first tournament- and our first travel game. They'd redone the baseball field that my dad had always played at when he was a kid.

Dad was right- the first time I played at the Sandlot would be special. I went back in freakin' TIME.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I turned around. Oh no. They were everywhere.

"How did you know we were following you?" Ham asked obnoxiously.

"My tremendous intuitive sense of the male creature." Well, that was partly true. I had also heard somebody belching. "So what do you want?"

They just stood there staring. I literally could not believe this. My father and his former friends are stalking me for no particular reason. "What do you want?" I repeated.

"Well-" Uncle Benny began sheepishly, but I cut him off. "Forget it. Leave me alone." I turned and continued walking down the road. When I had rounded the corner, they had dispersed in separate directions. I kicked a pebble as I continued down the road.

"Psst!"

I stopped. "What the hell?" I said out loud. I glanced around. There wasn't a soul in sight.

"Who's there?" I said to no one in particular. "I'm armed!" I would be if I could find a disposable camera, a soldering gun, a sixteen gage wire and a screwdriver.

I heard what I thought was footsteps. I glanced around again, heart beating, desperately searching for a potential weapon in my perpetual vision. I heard a twig snap and I leapt into a Charlie's Angels pose only to find a vicious…pekepoo?

The little furball was sitting innocently in front of an empty lot. I smiled a little. "Hey there, little guy." The dog barked once and ran over to me. I bent down and petted his little head. "What's your name?" I noticed the dog collar. The tag glowed _Sunshine_.

The dog suddenly hopped away from me, barking and running in circles. I wondered what on Earth could be so terrible to make this thing lose its head. The dog then shot off into the house that was definitely not there three seconds ago.

You know the idiots in the horror flicks who you scream at for the entire movie, and you always claim that they'd be alive if they'd just listened to you?

I decided to play the idiot today. I followed the dog into the house where I saw a man sitting on a large pouf, meditating. He looked way too familiar.

"You're…Bertram?" The guy just nodded once. "And this is Sunshine." He stroked the dog's head. I almost felt chills. I wanted him to speak in a Brooklyn accent. "My dad told me about you. You got really into the sixties and nobody ever saw you again."

"Indeed I did, child." Seriously, what the hell. My life couldn't get any weirder.

"Crumpet?"

It just did.

I sat down on a flower-shaped pouf and took the crumpet and the herbal tea. Just the smell made me gag. I wanted Coke, dammit!

"So how did you get back here, future-Bert?" I asked. He looked into his teacup as though contemplating my answer while I took the moment euthanize a sickly-looking plant by dumping my tea into it.

"I decided to move on after the team broke up."

Clearly. And now you are here, smoking salvia and drinking dirt.

"I chose to live my life in this way."

"And how did that turn out for you?" I asked coolly.

"Well…I'm your spirit guide now." He shrugged coyly. Sunshine barked indignantly (or so I thought.) I stared. "I thought spirit guides were animals."

"Okay, technically, Sunshine is your spirit guide. I'm just your guardian." He glared at the dog, who sat there smugly. "There's your credit."

"I'm leaving now." I told him. I stood up and walked toward the front door.

"Back to your bench?" I stopped and turned.

"Listen, Bertram Grover Weed. I've had enough of this nonsense. I want to go home."

"Your dad wanted you to understand how his childhood was, right?" I shrugged. "It might've come up."

"Shall we look into my crystal ball?" Oh, so now he's a pothead gypsy?

I was suddenly hit with a flashback. _I was sitting at the kitchen table. Dad was comparing scores from the last major league game and discussing statistics while on the phone with Uncle Benny, Mom was in her study going over some legal shit for some case she was doing, and I was in my study- the kitchen- tossing a baseball up and down and my feet were on the table._

_ Dad suddenly came in. "Hey, sweetie. Are we inviting Uncle Squints to your game since Mom and I can't go?" I turned to stare at him. "You-can't-_go_? _Again_?"_

_ "I've got important stuff with Uncle Benny to figure out. Honey, I'll be at the next game-"_

_ "No you WON'T Dad. And why do you always send your weird friends to my games instead of you?"_

_ "Because they love you. I don't get to see the guys much anymore. It's nice to know that they're hanging out with my daughter."_

_ "That's just WEIRD, Dad. Sammy OUT."_

"Come on. If YOUR dad was sending his creepy friends to your baseball games, you'd get it."

His head dropped. "Scotty's friends were really important to him, Sam; you've got to understand that."

I sighed. "Dude, listen, can you lay off the smokes so I can stay her tonight? I need a shower."

"I'm your guardian, remember? You're staying here with me until you've learned your lesson."

"Whatever, guardian creeper."

This is going to sound so weird, but I just saw Miley Cyrus' bong video and I remembered my original idea for this chapter, so I typed away.


End file.
